Bleach
by za
Summary: A brief look into a relationship that's falling apart. If you'd read and review it, I'd be glad.


Title: Bleach

Author: mao 

Disclaimer: Velvet Goldmine belongs to Michael Stipe, Todd Haynes, and a lot of other people, most namely not me. I'm just a poor teenager not trying to make any money from this, and if you sue me, all you'll get is some soda bottles. 

Author's Notes: I wrote this while bleaching my own hair. Yes, it really does itch that much. Believe it or not, this started out as humor. And then it ran away from me. Ooops.

Warnings: Language, mentions of drug use, vague gay smut.

***

He's fidgeting. The bleach is setting his scalp on fire, tiny digits of pain itching their way into his head, making him squirm as he tries to watch the bad program on the television. His lover, calm as always, turns to look at him, irritation showing on his face. 

"Would you stop shifting about like that?" Brian's annoyance is very clear - he's being pushed to the limit. 

"I can't help it," Curt whines. "It's just so...itchy!" Brian smiles complacently. "How can you stand it?"

"I know what I want and I go for it. Sometimes, you simply have to do vaguely unpleasant things to get what you want."

Curt glowers upwards, trying to fix a glare at the plastic bag on his head, failing miserably. "I just can't take it!" He reaches up and ran his hand over the plastic bag gently, trying to relieve some of the itching. "It just won't stop!"

Brian, face to the television, smiles again, as if to himrself. "So knock off. Scratching it won't help; you'll just rub the bleach deeper into your scalp. It just makes it worse."

Curt glares at his lover, and suddenly, it's not about bleach anymore. "Just fuck off, ok? I was just being unhappy about this shit on my head, and you can't even let me have that, can you? You just gotta fuckin butt in and tell me it's not so bad. Well good for you, but I'm fucking suffering here."

Brian, with soft irony, turns to him. "That's what you think? That I've always got to be right?"

"Well you certainly try to be. Such a fucking hypocrite! It's fine for you to whine, but moment I start, it's no good. You've got to work up a solution for it then," he continues, standing and crossing to the television, which he clicks off tensely.

"Hey, I was watching that," Brian argues. 

"Yes, instead of listening. God_dammit_. You never pay attention when you're meant to. If there's no fucking or cocaine in it for you, you just don't give a fuck, do you?"

Brian, infuriated, "I do give a fuck! I love you!"

Curt, stomping out of the room. "No you don't. You love yourself, your coke, your fucking Maxwell Demon."

The shower beats down on him, the water pounding the bleach out of his hair, relentlessly hard. There's a loud squeal as the door of the shower opens, and he turns, refusing to look at Brian. The other man climbs in, shuts the door behind them, and gets close to Curt.

"Here, let me help you wash that out."

"I'm doing just fine, thank you," Curt informs him, brushing his lover's hands away. Brian bends, pinching the other man on the ass as he goes, and picks up the shampoo. He spills some into his hand, spreads it to both hands, then begins massaging it gently into Curt's aching scalp.

"I'm sorry. I _do_ love you."

"Yeah. Sure. No problem." There's no sarcasm, just a lack of life in the statement. Brian lays one hand on Curt's shoulder, spins him around roughly.

"Really. I'm serious." He's looking down, his eyes averted in shame. "I'm sorry. You're right...I do argue a lot more than I should. I can be rather hypocritical."

A snort from Curt. "Rather?"

Brian looks up, meeting his eyes.

The only sound is that of the water beating down, relentless and hot. 

And then, from Curt, as he looks away. "That was out of line. Unfair. I'm sorry too."

A small smile from Brian as he reaches out, turning Curt's chin up and out, to face him. He leans in and kisses him gently, tentatively, on the lips.

And then they're fucking, hard, against the wall of the shower, the bleach and shampoo running out of their hair onto the floor in a stinging mess. Curt, pressed against the wall, grunting and Brian, sliding in and out of his lover, murmering sweet nothings. 

Then they're done, and cleaning each other off. 

Freezeframe: Brian running soap over Curt's pale arm.

Freezeframe: Curt, massaging the bleach and shampoo mixture out of Brian's now-white hair.

Freezeframe: The slight smile on Brian's face as he pats his lover down with a towel.

Freezeframe: Curt watching Brian as he drifts off to sleep.

Wrapped in the warm blankets, lulled by the sea of ivory silk and his lover's even breathing, Curt rolls over and stares at the wall. Thoughts of anger and of junk, of cocaine and addiction are out of his head; scary words like, "I'm leaving," have flown off on silver wings. 

He rolls back over, sleepy with the orgasm and shower.

"I love you too."


End file.
